Confusion
by T. Mad Hatter
Summary: 2x3 yaoi. If offended, don't read. Duo's POV. It's a lonely night, and our beloved Pilot 02 hears a silence...


**Confusion**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Trowa or Duo or Gundam Wing.  I own this fic.  Lucky me.

**Pairings:** 2x3

**Author's Note: **This is my first yaoi fanfic, and my first Duo POV.  Be nice.

**Summary: **Duo and Trowa are alone at the house the five Gundam Pilots share, and he finds Trowa in the midst of another haunting nightmare/memory.  

I'll never understand humanity. 

Then again, I never understood humanity to begin with so no real loss…right? The thing I don't get is how millions of people have to die for peace, which is ultimately against the act of killing in the first place. People will tear you apart, but feel sorry inside. It's like saying to a dog, "I love you, but I must kill you!" Yeah, I know: poor dog.

But that's what screws me up all of the time. They want you to fight for them, to bleed for them, to _kill_ for them, but they don't want anything to do with the process. Even so, out of the five Gundam pilots, I think I was the only one who was truly bothered by this fact. Heero didn't care because he just wanted an excuse to be the Perfect Soldier; Wufei thought he believed in bringing justice forth; Quatre was too innocent to even care; and Trowa…Trowa just didn't have any emotions to begin with. 

Which is another point I want to bring up: how the hell can a person like Trowa not have emotions?! Everyone knows that Heero has emotions, and he'll even admit it…after some redundant persuasion, of course. He has the ability to feel and move on, but he retains that "skill" for better use…like for a fire. But, at least he acknowledges that he has feelings and is fully capable of using them.  Tro…it's almost as if he doesn't even *care* about human passion or reaction.  He just stands there with his chestnut bangs over his left eye and watches you, like a hawk watches its prey.  He doesn't smile or frown or even blink—Trowa just stares, with eyes so deep and so empty that it hurts just to glance at them.  

Everything about that guy is calculated; I haven't heard or seen him mess up once, whether it is walking, talking, fighting…He's just so damn smooth!  When Trowa walks, it's like he's strolling across water, moving without even really moving at all.  I could watch him all day and not once would he trip.  And the same thing with his emotions: I could wait my entire damn life, but he would never express anything other than complete, useless apathy.  I know he's aching inside, from whatever devils in his past, but that's what bothers me.  I know that even if his parents had lived, Trowa wouldn't be very different.  I know, I know—it doesn't sound very realistic, but it's true.  Part of why he's the way he is, is from his past, but the other half of it is just his natural personality.  It sounds weird, but that's what's so damn screwed up about that guy.  He lets himself eat away at whatever humanity is left in him, just so he can be whoever people want or need him to be.  

So here I sit quietly in the house, watching boring, old TV.  Wufei always complains that I flip the channels way too goddamn fast for anyone to know what's on, but he's not here right now so I don't really give a shit.  It's pouring rain outside—a marvel I still have yet to understand—and the only other person in the house is Trowa, who has locked himself up in his room doing God knows what (though, mostly likely reading, knowing Trowa).  Sometimes I find myself yearning to just go up the stairs and pour my bloody heart out to him, y'know, but I never do.  He's Trowa, the Silencer, and I'm Duo, the Loud One.  We don't talk, especially not about our problems.  Ironic, isn't it?

I've lived my entire life in irony, so it's not a new feeling to me.  By now, in fact, it's a comforting feeling.  Had Wufei found out about this, he would probably spit on me and call me a "stupid baka," and I do now know what that means.  Stupid Wufei.

I frown as I hear someone stir, and then I realize Trowa must've gone asleep upstairs.  You'd think he'd be absolutely silent in his slumber, but Barton tends to whisper quietly, barely inaudibly.  Man, some of the shit he says scares me half to death.  I mean, it's not so much *what*he says, but more that it's *him* that's saying it.  You'd never expect to hear, "I…kill…" from Tro.  Or you would never see a look of utter pain and vulnerability on his face.  These things are never seen or heard, just like the idea of a priest fucking a nun.  These things are simply not done.

I stand slowly, but quickly regret doing so; my legs are asleep and I have to stand very still while a burning, tickling feeling floods my limbs and makes me want to cut my head off.  I *hate* it when that happens, because a) you're completely paralyzed until you can move again, i.e., when the burning stops and b) it hurts like hell.  After a few moments, the tickling recedes and I am once again able to make my way to wherever I was going.  Great, I forgot.

It was somewhere important.

Damnit, I know it was something I had to do…

Um…

Oh, right, I was going upstairs to Trowa's room.  I head up the quiet stairs silently, careful not to make a single noise or else Trowa might wake and accidentally commit suicide from the shock.  He can be paranoid like that.  Once, Quatre played a prank on him after much coaxing from me, and left a confetti bomb under Tro's pillow.  Well, let's just say the poor boy was so startled that he managed to shoot up the entire room.  It took two hours and a lot of talking from Wufei to get Trowa to put his gun *down*.  I would've laughed a lot harder had Trowa not been sending death glares twice as bad as Heero.  I don't mind it so much when Hee-chan does it to me because I know he'll never shoot me to death.  Barton, on the other hand, might.

Anyway, I find myself standing before the fatal room of Pilot 03 and a few shivers are sent down my spine.  That damned boy can do wonders to me, and he doesn't even talk!  God, he's got these emerald eyes that just sort of pierce your flesh, unlocking every bloody secret in your mind and then mesmerizing them.  Everything about him is just so…god.  I shook myself out of the haunting—but nice—fantasy and turned my attention back to the mahogany, inviting door standing in front of me.  Quite calmly, I press my hand up against the cold, bronze doorknob and silently push the door open, peering in for any sign of life or guns.  I still have nightmares about that incident with the confetti bomb, you know.

There upon his bed is Barton, sleeping with a look anguish and pain you'd never find if he was conscious.  Tro, unlike a lot of other people, doesn't react to pain or violence, so I've learned over the years.  He's experienced it so many times that now it's more of a routine or ritual rather than punishment.  Physical pain fades eventually, leaving only scars and distant memories as reminders.  That can screw up the right people, but not people like my friend.  He responds to mental pain the most, and that's what totally sent him over the edge, I think.  I've never asked T-Man, as I am not as suicidal as people might think, but I still suspect that it's the truth.  Then again, I've lived my life with the reassurance of tormenting lies, so I really wouldn't know the truth if it danced around naked, flapping its arms and screaming "I love Eskimos!"  ...I don't think I'd want to know the truth, though, if it was like that…man…I really am fucked up…

Trowa moans quietly, wrenching himself from the grasp of his sheets and onto the other side of the bed, as if he was running away from some ghost that was chasing him, holding onto him for sweet, dear revenge.  You don't know what it's like, standing there helplessly, unable to move out of the fear that something might go terribly wrong if you do.  It's like I'm watching my best friend die, and all I can do is stare on, hoping that it'll all end sooner or later.  But, the thing I've learned about life is this: it never ends when you want it to, and always ends when you're just starting to have fun.  Those years on L2 when I had to fend for myself and others seemed to last for a lifetime, while peaceful moments when I can let my mask down are gone in a flash, and I find myself back in the ray of battle where I have to once again be The God of Death.  There are moments, like Heero once told me, when being who we're supposed to be and not who we truly are is either a relief or a constant inner battle.  Yuy is not only the Perfect Soldier, nor is he completely emotionless and inept when it comes to love.  Wufei isn't as into justice as everyone thinks and just feels useless a lot—like a confused child lost in a circus without anyone to protect him.  It's odd, because you'd never associate Wufei with actually ever being a child, but that's how it is.  Haha, if he ever found out I had said that, he'd kill me.  Maybe I should tell him tomorrow…

You'd never expect to hear anything remotely heartbreaking from one of the Gundam Pilots, especially Trowa.  Why, do you ask?  Because that boy doesn't have emotions, and if he doesn't have emotions, he doesn't do anything heartbreaking.  It's a complicated cycle, I know, but you'll get used to it.  Even the stalker Quatre finally got that he could and would never get close to Trowa, and for Quatre to get something like that, it's either pretty damn weird, or stalkers are all insane.  Maybe both—I haven't decided yet.

I sit down slowly next to Trowa in a simplistic chair and caught my breath; one sharp movement told me that he would be in a horrible, vulnerable mood when he awoke.  I feel odd sitting here, watching someone I had never really gotten close to go through something I shouldn't have been watching.  How do you handle something like that?  It's almost as bad as holding your dying ex-wife's husband in your arms.  You really want to bolt, but guilt keeps you there.  I know I have weird analogies, but I never claimed to be sane.  I am Shinigami after all.

Slowly, I hear him stir and suddenly his eyes are open and he is sitting upright, breathing heavily as if he hadn't gotten a decent supply of oxygen in *ages*.  He finally notices that I'm here, and the mask of cool indifference takes over once again, making sure he was still safe in his own little bubble.  "I…Er…" I begin nervously, looking around for some excuse that might just be hanging in mid-air for me to borrow.  Unfortunately, knowing my luck, there isn't any.

"Maxwell, why are you in my room?"  You see?!  It's that voice!  I'm in his room, he knows I saw him dream, and yet he's acting as if this is the most natural thing in the world.  Gah.  Trowa Barton is hopeless.

"No reason, T-Man!" I hurriedly respond, hoping to cover up my moment of defenselessness to his charm with yet another loud, smirking remark for Duo Maxwell, the person everyone loves to hate.  He sees right through it, eyeing me with a look that clearly state, "I know what's behind your mask, Maxwell."  So the idea of being my "usual," cheery self was a bad one.  I can bounce back.

"…Did I disturb you?" Wow, he seems almost…worried or guilty, afraid that he might've let on too quickly or done something to disturb me.  That's the weird thing about Tro: he can be as emotionless as he wants, but he's still one of the most compassionate people you'll ever meet.

"No, of course not!"  I laugh, in spite of my own feelings inside, beneath the façade of easy laughter and witty jokes.  I hate having to play this part all of the time, acting as if nothing matters to me except death and the preservation of it.  Yes, I do know the word preservation, whether you believe me or not.  I'm actually pretty smart, but I guess you'd have to be, hanging around geniuses like Heero, Trowa, and Wufei.  I truly caught one of them (Heero) trying to mesmerize the Webster Dictionary one time after dinner.  That was enough to keep me giggling for days, and yes, I do giggle on occasion.

Trowa narrows his emerald eyes at me, slicing through the disguise of "Duo Maxwell," and getting down to the raw truth of an abandoned, unhappy kid.  His eyes flicker, seeking out the truth until he found it within my own purple ones, and he shifts uncomfortably from the knowledge.  This made me jump inside: I have to think of something fast before he withdraws and I never have another chance to talk to him like this, alone where the lies didn't matter.

"Tro, I…" I hopelessly begin, stammering thoroughly through the entire thing.  I quickly avert my eyes to the bare wooden floor and transferr my weight from one leg to another, hoping to ease the silence with pointless movements that would distract him.  They don't.

"Duo, what's wrong?" He never calls me Duo…well, not really.  It's only when he's either really worried about me, or knows something he shouldn't about my past.  Tro has that rare gift of being able to read people's eyes really well with just a simple glance.  You could be the best conman in the world with countless disguises, and my man here would still be able to see through you.  It's uncanny, but also very hard to cope with.  What if knows about what really happened at L2?  What if he rejects me?  Do I want him to?

"I…nothing, Trowa.  You were just having a bad dream so I came up to check on you." Uh-oh—I said the magic words and Trowa began to retreat back into himself once again, where it was safe and away from human interaction.  I had predicted this previously, though, so I was prepared.  

"No, Trowa, wait…" I reach out and hold his shoulder, touching bare skin with my own soft, calloused hand.  I could've sworn I felt sparks, but then again, that could've been a shock…right?  It made me feel all warm inside, like I was snuggling with a big teddy bear near a warm fireplace, in the middle of winter.  I know it'd be just as warm as in the fall, but for some odd reason, being warm in the winter is always twice as special.  The air is crisp and clear, but you feel at home and happy because you're able to be in control of something, even if it's as miniscule as your body heat.

It apparently made me nervous because Trowa gives me a look, the same one he had seen every time I had cracked a joke, tried to make him smile, or every time I felt my heart jolt as he silently strolled into a room.  It was a mixture of allayed admiration and utter confusion; he doesn't seem to understand what he had felt or why he had felt it, but he doesn't pull away this time.  

"Tro…did you feel that?" I know he's not open with his emotions, but I have to find out.  I have to know if I wasn't the only one that felt like they could fly, that felt like healing wasn't such a bad idea after all.  I have to find out if he cared; if I wasn't just a nuisance to him, if he maybe even liked me as a person, not the fake I claimed to be.

And what happened next caught me by utter surprise.  Go ahead and guess what happened.

Can't think of anything?

Come on, I know you can do better than that.  
  


All right, fine, I'll tell you.  He *nodded*.  Now, for Trowa to acknowledge a feeling, a particular shockwave of emotion is like…like Ru Paul actually acting like a male, and not just some random transvestite he claims to be.  Sorry for all those people who were convinced that he was a she, too.  

I smile slowly, my heart beginning to pulse twice the usual rate.  This is something I have to go on.  My eyes must've said something to him, because something in his twinkled with a vague resemblance to a once happy person.  Trowa's eyes just sort of light up, and I see what was beyond the indifferent face he kept on all of the time, even when his most intimate of friends like Wufei.  I see what no one else will ever get to see and for that, I'm so happy because it's my secret and it'll keep my sane at night when he's not near me.

Slowly, tentatively, I take his hand and move closer, hoping he won't pull away or bolt.  I leave the option open, knowing that this could turn out to be very uncomfortable for him, but my heart still beggs him to stay.  And you want to know what he does?  He stays.

Our faces are inches from one another, so I can feel his warm, cinnamon scented breath upon my flushed cheeks.  I see every feature upon his face from his deep, prismatic eyes to his soft, tan skin.  Making a mental note to myself, I promise to one day mesmerize every feature on that boy's—no, god's—face and draw it sometime, if I am ever randomly blessed with the ability and talent to draw.  

And Trowa Barton, the magnetic, apathetic, completely amazing bastard he pretended to be all of the time, *smiles* at me.  It has to be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.  He has this smile that's so unique and hushed it's even sexier.  It's quiet and shy, and yet charming and contradicting all in its own way.  I know he must've felt embarrassed, because he acts as if he hadn't smiled in ages—which, come to think of it, he probably hasn't—and that it felt almost…uncomfortable, like walking for the first time or riding a bike.  Maybe it's not as physically painful as the two, but equally nerve-wrecking as far as mentally is considered.

I know he is still hurting, constantly reminded by the torturing dream that had drawn me to his room in the first place.  I want to comfort him.  I want to help him.  Hell, I want to heal him, if he'd let me.  So what do I do?  Well, I did what any smart idiot would do: I lean forward, and kiss him.

Yes, all of my readers right now are probably gaping and going "WHAT?!!!"

Haha, well, screw you guys.

Anyway…

Trowa doesn't move for about five minutes, almost afraid of what would happen if he responds, or utterly confused because this is his first kiss, I think.  But, I coax him with my own tender lips and touch, and slowly the reserved Pilot 03 moves his mouth to meet my rhythm, and we are both alone in a world where our memories of pain and sorrow are gone.  At last, we are both happy.  Well, I'm blissful, but that's okay.  He doesn't need to know that.

I move my hand to run my fingers through his famous bang of chestnut hair, and am surprised at how soft it was.  I know why Trowa wears his hair like that, and I suspect the rest of the world does as well.  Ever since he was young, Trowa has been rejected from everyone around him, mostly those he cared about.  After a long time of hurt and pain, he began to hide his face, hoping no one would see who he truly was.  If you don't know who they are, you can't reject them.  It's sad and makes me want to kill everyone that has wronged him, but I suppose it's the same with my braid.  It's my trademark, yes, but it's also my safety.  It's a tie back into the world I can never let myself forget.  I was rejected and wronged, but I must also remember why I was rejected and wronged.  Don't let yourself fall prey to simple memories: they'll either drive you insane or weaken you.  Trowa and I couldn't afford either, and probably still can't.

We sit here for a very long time, him on his bed and me next to him in that worn, old chair.  It is he, who first pulled away, in desperate need of oxygen.  I smile quietly to myself, finally able to reveal the real Duo Maxwell.  You'd think that I'd adapt my mask after living under it for so long, but I never could bring myself to do so.  It's a protection, a helmet—nothing more, nothing less.

The silence is warm and inviting for once, and no longer do I have to listen to the voices in my head tell me of my mistakes over and over again.  Instead, I listen to my companion's quiet breathing and the rain.  I watch the gentle rising of his chest, up and down.  Soon, I know the rhythm by heart.  Simple things like that are sometimes a nice reminder of that I'm in love, and my companion knows how to breathe *extremely* well.

After that, well, y'know…we just sort of continued on from there.  I did my best to heal him from his demons, and he did the same for me.  Around Tro, I don't have to be Shinigami or the God of Death, or anyone for that matter.  It doesn't really mean anything to him, because he just wants me to be happy.  Can you imagine that?  It's really quite nice, because I want the same thing for him.

Now and again, when I'm lying in bed and he's sleeping peacefully, I think back on that day when I was drawn from the boring TV (I still flip at a rapid pace and Wufei still doesn't like it) to the enigma's room, and there I found what I had been waiting for my entire existence: a life.  Ugh, this sounds so sappy it'd make Quatre sick, and he's the Sap-Queen.  Great, I now live a sentimental, foolish life.  Then again, I still get to piss of Wufei and Heero all of the time, so it can't be that bad, can it?

No, I don't think so.  Want to know why?

It's because I don't mind, as long as I'm living my life with the one and only, Trowa Barton.

P.S. Haha, how was *that* for a sappy ending?!


End file.
